Out of Touch
by Krissie
Summary: Eggsy wasn't new to hopeless missions.


Eggsy was so fucked.

He knew he was fucked. He also knew that if he made it back to HQ alive, he was going to tell Merlin off for not thinking to make the communication equipment shock-proof.

Because now here he was, trapped without backup, in the middle of a fucking black market electronics ring in Saudi Arabia, of all fucking places, without any visible way out.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Merlin, but make your fuckin' earpieces shock-proof next time," he breathed. He had no idea how many guards were left, or where they were, or what sort of weapons they had on them. He'd managed to sabotage the bootleg mobiles, so at least nobody else would be getting electrocuted and dying because of the shoddy construction (though what little good it did for Eggsy right now, seeing as he'd managed to fry his own electronics, too).

He was running low on weapons, himself. Only half a clip left, two grenades, and a knife. Probably not enough to get him out alive, but at least if he went down, he'd go down fighting.

Right, then. That was the plan—the only plan he really had to work with. Get the fuck out of the warehouse in as close to one piece as possible. Find a phone. Call Merlin, and refrain from telling him off until he was back on English soil.

Hopefully he remembered the way out of the building, but it didn't matter, really. He was fucked no matter what, so he headed left, down the hall he knew he'd come down, gun at the ready. He kept the glasses on, just in case the feed was only working one way, so at least Merlin would have the data about the place when someone came to retrieve his body. He took out a few guards coming round the corner, sneaking down in the direction they'd come from.

Eggsy wasn't new to hopeless missions. It seemed every mission he'd been on had somehow gone tits up on him, and he had some really sweet battle scars to show for his troubles.

But this—being lost in a black market warehouse in the middle of summer in Saudi-fucking-Arabia, and whoever decided not to put a goddamned air conditioner in the building with temperatures well over 38°C every day was going to have far too easy a time when they finally got to Hell. And Eggsy was all for them being bulletproof, but Kingsman suits couldn't breathe in this heat, and even if Eggsy survived the warehouse, he'd die in the sun.

Nothing in this part of the building looked familiar, but he kept moving, avoiding the suppliers as best he could once he'd used the last of his weapons, until he had to admit he was lost and being followed by far too many pairs of feet. "This is it, then," he muttered, sliding down the wall beside a stack of crates, taking off his glasses and sighing. "If you're watchin' this, I'm prolly dead," he said, looking into the lenses. "Assumin' you can even see this. Fuck. I'm somewhere in the depths of that warehouse in Jubail, and I hope whoever comes to fix this mess brings backup."

If Eggsy made it out alive, he was learning Arabic. He couldn't understand anything being said—well, sure, they were all looking for _him_ , but it would've been nice to know where they were searching so he could sneak out the other way. But it was hours before the chase died off, and Eggsy crept through the halls, ducking into rooms and behind boxes whenever he heard voices. And eventually, he made his way out. It was dusk, but no less blisteringly hot. He tugged at his tie, then removed his suitcoat, dragging them along behind him as he trudged away from the

Now if only Eggsy could find his way to a public phone, or find someone who spoke English, which was far easier said than done. For a country with such a thriving global economy, nobody spoke anything Eggsy recognised, and he said as much to his defunct-equipment as he made his way away from the warehouse and walked along the expressway to the college he'd passed by earlier. As long as he didn't pass out from the heat, he thought he might have a shot at making it home.

Every step he took gave Eggsy a bit more room to breathe and relax. He wasn't being chased on foot, and if anyone living had seen him well enough to find him by car, then he'd deal with that as it came. "I hope you don't plan to send me 'ere again anytime soon, Merlin," he panted—the temperature was still at least 32°C.

"He won't be," a familiar voice said, car slowing down beside him.

"About fuckin' time," Eggsy said, relieved as he climbed in beside Harry. "Shit, I was wondering if anyone'd ever find me, or if this was gonna be my last mission." And his wall of front pages wasn't nearly as impressive as his lover's—he'd be ashamed to go out like that.

"We lost the feed, but as soon as you went offline, I was on a flight out to get you," Harry said, heading toward the airport. "What happened?"

And Eggsy told Harry everything, from the moment he fried the mobiles and lost his connection, to using his last bullet and losing his knife in some arsehole's gut, to creeping out of the warehouse terrified he was going to be spotted and shot. Harry just listened, though Eggsy knew the man well enough now to see he was distressed. Eggsy loved that overprotective streak; nobody before had ever gotten so worked up on his behalf.

"There's fresh clothes on the plane," Harry said finally, and Eggsy snorted.

"Guv, I'm too hot for clothes. The second we take off is the second this suit's hittin' the floor." Eggsy sprawled on the seat as best he could, eyes closed as he let the air conditioning cool his overheated skin. "Sure you'll enjoy the view."

"Any view where you're alive and back home with me is enjoyable, Eggsy," Harry replied, and Eggsy smiled fondly at the older man.

"Don't like a taste o' your own medicine, then?" Eggsy teased.

Harry merely rolled his eyes, taking the road toward the airport.

"After all, I didn't get shot in the head. An' it was just a few hours I was out of touch."

"Piss off, Eggsy," Harry replied, and Eggsy just laughed.

"Love you, too, Harry."


End file.
